


Underneath a Big Tree

by Exorciststuck



Series: Johndaveweek 2017 [4]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: GHOST BOYS, M/M, johndaveweek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-07
Updated: 2017-07-07
Packaged: 2018-11-28 20:31:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11425638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Exorciststuck/pseuds/Exorciststuck
Summary: John finds a piano in the dream bubbles, but he doesn't think it's for him.





	Underneath a Big Tree

These days, finding new things to see or do was a rare and special occasion. The dream bubbles were only so big after all, and after a certain point of time it seemed to be that you’d discovered everything there was to discover. But, sometimes the world surprised you, shifting itself around to fit the needs of the souls who lived inside it. 

The dream bubble must have sensed one of those needs in someone to make a piano underneath a big tree like that, but you weren’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth. After all, seeing something new was exciting, and you couldn’t remember the last time you’d gotten to play a piano. The one in your childhood home had been unceremoniously destroyed sometime during Sburb, and you’d never managed to stumble onto another. You never thought you would. Evidently, the salamanders weren’t much for pianos, even if they loved their music.

You’d never been all that ecstatic the piano as a kid, actually. You could appreciate that there was music coming out of your hands, which was like, ‘okay cool I _guess_ ,’ levels of important, but nothing to shit yourself over. Now though, it was like combining nostalgia with forbidden fruit- it was something you’d had, something you weren’t allowed to have anymore because of the rule of the dream bubbles: what you see is what you get. And until now, you’d never seen one.

Lucky for you, muscle memory doesn’t degrade easily, and when your hands touched the cool keys of the piano it didn’t fade away underneath you like some half-assed mirage. No, it was very much a real piano, at least as real as anything in the bubbles was, and when you let your hands settle and press down the keys into a chord- c major- it filled the air, bright and clear.

It was only one chord, but something in your heart clenched, a lump forming in your throat. It was more than enough convincing for you, knowing that this piano felt real and sounded real and was going to _let you play it_. Sucking in a sharp breath, you sat down, and, for the first time since before you started playing this stupid game, you played the piano.

If you were in a movie, there might have been a crowd of people unfamiliar to you that would gather and sway along to the music. For once, you were thankful you weren’t the protagonist of anything, that you weren’t the prodigy musician or the rugged, handsome movie star. You were just John Egbert- one singular John Egbert of who knows how many- a ghost, a corpse, playing the piano. It was better that nobody could see you anyway, you were definitely making dumb faces.

Well, you thought nobody could see you, until you heard the gentle chirp of birdsong behind you. Immediately, you weren’t surprised that he’d found you, or that you hadn’t heard him coming- he was a _floating bird_ , of course you wouldn’t. Plus, he was really clingy, had been ever since he’d shown up crying like a big baby with eyes whited out just like yours. 

It was… Nice, actually. Even dead you couldn’t find your Dad, and you couldn’t help but be thankful that Dave Sprite so eagerly doted upon you. It meant someone cared. Still, you hadn’t really considered if he’d like the piano, so hearing him start up behind you was shocking enough that you stopped playing, turning just in time to see him flush bright orange until he looked like a pot of macaroni and cheese someone mixed with a glowstick.

As well, you were elated by the fact that he’d come straight at you singing his heart out, and you couldn’t keep what felt like a broad grin from spreading across your face. “Wow Dave, I didn’t know you could sing!”

He bowed his head- probably embarrassed, you thought- his hands nervously moving together. “It ain’t something I’d do all that often, if I’m going to perform for people and shit, it’s gonna be a rap, not… Bird noises.”

“Well, good thing I’m not an audience then, because I really don’t want to hear you rap!” You lean back, patting the empty space next to you on the bench. “We could do a duet though. That was what you were trying to do anyway, right? You just scared me, since you’re a big spooky ghost.”

He looked like he wanted to say something else, but instead Dave Sprite just sat next to you, looking nervous and small and uncertain. You bumped his shoulder with your own, trying to provide comfort, before your hands settled easily back onto the piano once more. 

This time, when you played, it was with an awareness that you weren’t doing it just for yourself. And, at first, it really was just a performance for one, you playing melodies long etched into your mind for Dave Sprite, who seemed happy enough to stare at your hands and sit there, lost in a quiet that was only characteristic of him when he was deep in thought.

Whatever conclusion he reached, it prompted him to exhale, and on the next breath in, with the next note you played, his birdsong began. It’d be insulting to describe it as a singular sound, you couldn’t place it as a ‘peep’ or a ‘chirp’ or even a ‘caw,’ because it was something more than that- something instinctive that you couldn’t emulate in words. Still, he was plenty melodic and quick to harmonize with you, his sounds as sharp and crystal clear as glass. 

When the first song finished, you shifted right into a second one, this time with less of a focus on your playing and more on Dave Sprite. You wanted to test him, to see what sounds you could get out of him with just your hands. You played fast, forcing him to hurry his notes to follow along, you played slow to make him draw in deeper breaths and hold them longer. The notes were low, his birdsong sultry and deep, and then high, his noises almost inaudible. You might have felt mean about it, springing this impromptu test on him, but when your playing halted he was breathing hard with exertion and grinning from ear to ear, oozing pride.

It was… Special. Dave- the kid you knew before this game- he was proud, but it was definitely a front, you weren’t stupid enough to think otherwise. Especially when Dave Sprite came to you, shaken up by everything the game had done to him, constantly trying to hide how little confidence he had. The years in the dream bubbles had been good to him, you knew more about why he’d ended up that way, but he was never actually like that kid you both knew. It made seeing him this way, genuinely impressed with himself, laughter sneaking out of him when you bumped his shoulder again, all the more special.

You found yourself entranced by the face he made when he laughed, the white of his teeth and the small dips of his dimples, and before you could think too hard you’d leaned over and planted a kiss right onto his cheek, the skin there soft with a peach fuzz that almost felt like down. Like before, he turned neon orange, and was quick to hide his face in his hands, but when you pried them away he was grinning even wider than before.

“You _kissed_ me.”

“Well, yeah. It felt right. I would have kissed you on the lips too, but you just hid like a dumbass, so I guess the Dave Strider kissing booth is closed for business…” You played it off casually, like your palms hadn’t turned sweaty with ectoplasm, but there was still a clear sag of relief in your shoulders when Dave Sprite launched himself at you, all big fluffy wings and even more excited bird sounds.

The dream bubble had sensed a need in someone, to make this piano underneath a big tree, and you knew it wasn’t for you. But now, sitting underneath it, shamelessly canoodling with Dave Sprite, you were pretty sure you understood just who it’d been for.  


**Author's Note:**

> JD WEEK DAY FOUR ITS ALT TIMELINE TIME  
> have some davesprite


End file.
